Piltover is the city of progress, the place people who do stuff live! Ezreal is one of those people. Totally. He walks with a certain swagger, anyone looking at him would know that he's a big deal, even if they don't know his name. Ezreal knows his name, and to him, he's a bigshot. He's so caught up in this self-aggrandizing, head in the clouds, that he doesn't realize someone is coming in the same direction as he is. The two of you slam into each other, and Ezreal yelps; he stumbles backwards, his arms flying out to his sides and grasping at air.

"Ah!" He catches himself on a nearby railing, his gauntlet lighting up and his facial markings doing much the same. A missile of arcane magic springs out from the artifact he wears on his left hand, it bounces off of a nearby wall and crashes through a window and breaking a vase. You hear a cry of disbelief from inside the house. Ezreal purses his lips, his eyes flicking between you and the window while he scrambles to stand upright.

"Ohh. Crap, crap." He mutters, before suddenly turning and running in the opposite direction. "Run, idiot!" Ezreal cries back to you. You're making a grand escape, apparently you're now both on the run from the scene of blatant property damage and magical misconduct. Ezreal can't go back to wizard court!